Battlefield: The Badlands
by Stripes213
Summary: 2016, the United States finds itself back in the Middle East to battle against the terrorist group "Daesh". Followed a Platoon of Marines from Echo Company among the eyes of all of it's Marines. Regarding in country dilemma's both inside and outside the wire as well as troubles back home. All located in enemy territory designated; "The Badlands."
1. Outside the Wire

"Viking Two, do we still got the sheep in our way?" Sergeant Walstrom radioed up the Humvee convoy to the lead vehicle that had Corporal Gomez and his team as well as his attachments included.

"Affirmative. Might be clearing the way shortly. Viking Two out." Corporal Gomez replied over the radio. Walstrom slammed the radio handset into the dash.

"God dammit. Sure enough sir is going to come up here and holler in my ear anytime soon." Sergeant Walstrom uttered, he was sitting in the front passenger seat with Lance Corporal Skolnick at the driver seat. Corporal Lehman, the team leader, was behind the driver seat. Private First Class Kovach was behind the Sergeant, and Lance Corporal Chamberlain was on the .50 caliber "Ma Deuce" machine gunner turret.

"Go figure, we actually get a patrol and we're stopped by a herd of sheep. Goooooood." Corporal Lehman said with sarcasm, shifting his M16A4 with a M203 attached to the underbarrel mount to outside the window.

"Yeah, better our luck being at the front of the convoy too." Sergeant Walstrom uttered and rubbed his eyes. They'd been outside the wire since 0500, it was 1636 now. His squad was acting as the lead element in a mechanized security and contact patrol for Forward Observation Base Oklahoma. The FOB was more of a fortified patrol base but a lot of local government forces would stage within the compound so they decided the base being called a patrol base wouldn't make sense.

"Viking" was Walstrom's callsign for his squad, they were apart of second platoon in Company E. It'd been two weeks since 2nd Platoon was sent on a patrol. They had been stuck on perimeter security after one of their trucks had broke down outside the wire because one of the Marines forgot to fill the tank with gas. Now Walstrom was trying his best to keep it so his squad could go out on patrols commonly and not be stuck on the perimeter getting barely any sleep. But thanks to the mob of sheep, they weren't helping.

"Couldn't we try, maybe firing a few rounds?" Private First Class Kovach asked with his M16A4 between his legs, poking his head up. The lean tall newest addition to the squad popping out of silence.

"Look Kovach, as much as I'd love to get a few rounds off, maybe stack some sheep. We just can't do that. You understand?" Corporal Lehman said across the seat from Kovach.

"I meant in front of them or in the air, Corporal." Kovach explained.

Lehman stopped a moment and thought to himself, "don't matter. Marines don't shoot to scare. Shoot to kill."

"Semper..." Lance Corporal Skolnick uttered to himself in the driver seat. He was the most annoyed. Stuck sitting in the most dangerous seat without the vehicle moving. Skolnick was nervous about being the driver in the morning, once they were stuck in front of the flock of sheep, he was sure it was an ambush. One would assume him to be paranoid, it was common of Skolnick, but he wasn't wrong. But after a continous hour and a half of being planted where they were was killing them.

Behind them was Viking One, with Corporal Tripp in the passenger seat being the vehicle commander and team leader. Lance Corporal Skyes in the back seat bored. Lance Corporal Pilarski at the driver seat and Lance Corporal Teitielbaum on the turret. Doc Kirby was behind the driver seat, fast asleep snoring. At this point Corporal Tripp was tired of waiting and had lit a cigarette, Kevlar helmet on the dashboard.

"Holy fuck... shoot the fucking things." Tripp cried out in annoyance before taking a puff of smoke into his lungs. Pilarski reached into his shoulder pocket and pulled out a pack of Malboro Southern Cut cigarettes.

"Hey Pilarski, hook me up with a smoke?" Asked Sykes from the back seat. The question seemed to be a cue for Doc Kirby to suddenly awake.

"So how Sykes I knew you'd ask." Pilarski groaned and held out behind him a cigarette to Sykes who took it.

"Hey throw me one too Pilarski." Doc Kirby asked patting Pilarski on the shoulder. Without another word, Pilarski held back a second cigarette.

"Can't be showing people you got smokes Pilarski. They're fucking vultures and won't be shy about begging." Tripp said taking a puff. Pilarski finally got a chance to lite a cigarette for himself. The entire humvee was smoking, except for Teitielbaum who had a pinch of tobacco in his lip that the team could occasionally hear him spitting onto the roof of the truck.

"Yeah, don't be sharing too much Ski, we probably leave around midnight. We both know you ain't got enough smokes for that." Teitielbaum explained, spitting a mouthful of tobacco ridden saliva.

"Hell maybe we'll get lucky and see the asshole who owns these fuckin' things." Pilarski complained taking a puff of his cigarette. Corporal Tripp smirked and laughed.

"You're so pissed and it's hilarious."

"Corporal, this is some shit like even you can't deny it." Pilarski said looking around the window. They were on a dirt road that was slightly elevated above the fields surrounding them. It was dried up wheat fields that they could describe it as. The scary part was that if any insurgent really wanted to, all they had to do was crawl through the fields on their stomachs and they could get dangerously close without the Marines noticing. Even though the Marines were bored and annoyed, they still kept an eye out in their perspective areas for anything.

"Cheer up Pilarski, you could think of something positive. Like getting promoted." Teitielbaum joked with sarcasm.

"We all know that'll never happen." Skyes said with a smile as he exhaled cigarette smoke.

"Hey, hey. I'm capable. Don't doubt me." Pilarski argued before finishing the last puff of his smoke before tossing the cigarette butt out the window.

"Nah, you're fucked." Doc Kirby said before busting out into laughter. Skyes and Teitielbaum joined him.

"You can, you have a lot to learn however." Corporal Tripp explained before he opened his door and stepped out, tossing his cigarette out. He grabbed his M4 by the grip and stepped out. "If you don't mind me, I'm going to try to see what the fuck is going on. And why we're still here."

Tripp then walked up the convoy towards the lead vehicle. Skyes groaned and took off his Kevlar helmet to scratch his head. "This blows."

Corporal Gomes had his feet crossed and head propped against the window of the door, practically falling asleep. Lance Corporal Beckner was stuck behind the wheel, playing with a DS Lite while Lance Corporal Vazquez was leaning back on the opening of the turret hole with hands clenched on the Mk. 19 grenade launcher.

"Beck, be sure to keep an eye out man." Vazquez said down to Beckner who was glued to his video game.

"Vaz, chill man. We haven't been shot at it weeks. The assholes of the Daesh realized they fucked with the United States and got raped. You saw what the Air Force did to their train yard and airfield dude."

Beckner was talking about when the Air Force launched numerous airstrikes onto key locations in the providence of Albachr Qusad. The squad's unit was assigned to sweeping through the ruins of the airfield and eliminate any remaining enemy forces that decided to hold the flight deck. Command had them ride inside of AAV's all the way up to the treeline outside of the airfield. They got out and got on line, letting the AAV's move in to provide support only to find much of nothing. Vazquez saw a injured Daesh fighter try to fight back against the Marines, but another Marine from 2nd Platoon shot him dead before he got to fire the AK he had.

The sound of someone walking on rock gravel was approaching behind Vazquez, he turned around to see Corporal Tripp approaching. Vazquez gave Beckner a quick kick to the shoulder to stop him from doing what he was doing. Tripp then smacked the palm of his hand on Gomes' flak vest, stirring the Marine awake.

"Sleeping, outside the wire?" Tripp asked.

"Hey man, I need to get some sleep. Was up last night drawing up this patrol." Gomes explained.

"So was I, don't see me sleeping though. Anything change with the... herd?"

"Nah, fuckers are still being dicks. Where's the shepherd of these pricks, I'd love to have him move them." Gomes said adjusting his M16A4/M203 rifle on his lap.

Vazquez cared little for the conversation. He looked to the left, mind racing in other places but his eyes still saw the treeline and fields. He was wondering about home, how much he missed his folks and family. Something caught his eye. There, in the trees. To the vehicle, it was there ten o'clock.

"Hey, I think I see something." Vazquez said outloud, the Marines stopped talking and got into the zone.

"What is it?" Corporal Gomes asked leaning over his seat trying to look.

"Ten o'clock could've sworn I saw someone or something moving in the trees."

"Worth radio-ing up?" Beckner asked out loud into the air. Sounded like he wasn't trying to really ask someone more like throw out an option. Gomes reached to the radio and pulled the handset.

"Viking Three this is Viking Two, one of my guys has spotted movement outside the trees-"

An explosion erupted along the elevated road right before the Humvee that made the Marines stir in shock, surprised by the sudden act. Corporal Tripp knelt down and covered his head, Corporal Gomes shook off the explosion that made his eyes ring, Vazquez covered his face from the flying debris, while Beckner lost his DS as it flew into the backseat.

They all had a moment to collect themselves, in shock.

"God damn RPG!" Someone yelled.

Then the bullets started to fly. From the convoy's left came a sudden series of gunshots that rippled around the vehicles. Gomes opened his door and jumped out dragging his rifle with him, rolling on the ground to his feet. Beckner had a grip on his M249 SAW, crawling across the seat and console before two rounds pierced through the windshield and into the driver seat. Vazquez turned the turret and dumped a burst of grenades into the treeline. Tripp got behind the front of the humvee and emptied a few rounds into the enemy's position. He had no clue of exactly where they were, but he had to shoot back. Both Beckner and Gomes had now gotten themselves set to engage. Beckner was laying behind the truck, using bipods he mounted the SAW on the ground, firing away automatic fire. Gomes fired his rifle in quick three round bursts.

"Shit, Chamberlain open up on 'em!" Sergeant Walstrom shouted, jumping out of his door and resting his M4 against the hood of the Humvee to start firing rounds. Corporal Lehman and Kovach got out to get on the right side of the truck to use as cover. Chamberlain had begun to fire away the mounted .50 cal machine gun. The rounds shredded the trees, chunks of bark flew. Walstrom reached into the truck and grabbed the handset of the radio.

"Oklahoma this is Viking 2-3, we're under fire in grid 2341-8763, requesting CAS!" Walstrom demanded.

At first Walstrom couldn't tell if the FOB had returned his radio call because Chamberlain left off a long burst from the .50 cal. The shell casings landed and pinged all around Walstrom. One landed between his flak and blouse but he didn't care. The burning sensation didn't bother him. Whether it was his pure mental strength or adrealine he wasn't sure. Corporal Lehman fired off a round from his M203, followed by two-three round bursts from his rifle. Still Walstrom couldn't hear anything over the radio.

Skyes had immediately jumped out of the Humvee when the rounds started flying. Teitielbaum began opening up with his turret while Pilarski crawled across the console to get out the front passenger side door. Doc Kirby had jumped out his door and rushed around to the side, getting behind the truck.

"Looks like a squad sized element, 100 meters in the treeline!" Sykes yelled out between his quick shots of his rifle. Pilarski put the bipods of his M27 IAR against the hood of the Humvee and let loose bursts of automatic fire. The loud fire from the .50 cal that Teitielbaum was on blacked out all the other gunshots. Until it came to an ebrupt stop.

"Jam!" Teitielbaum yelled out as he scrambled to get the turret back into action.

"Covering!" Pilarski shouted out as he let loose longer bursts from his Automatic Rifle. Sykes kept snapping the trigger quicky in efforts to provide accurate shots. Doc Kirby had laid down in the prone behind the Humvee to shoot from under it to hit bad guys. Pilarski at first was firing at the congested muzzle flashes that he saw, but then he spotted a Daesh fighter sprinting for another mound and tree for cover. He sighted in and fired off a short burst. The rounds hit the militant in the leg and hip, dropping him to a knee. Pilarski fired off another burst, in a zip up method. Aiming low and letting the climbing recoil hit the rest of the target. The rounds landed more up the man's side and then a round struck the fighter in the head, sending him to the dirt in a twisting motion.

Beckner noticed the fighters were starting to break off, trying to have one firing and the other falling back. He spotted one man just starting to run back, Beckner squeezed the trigger letting loose a burst of rounds that destroyed the fighter's back. At least a dozen rounds hit square in his back. The fighter trying to cover for him popped out more and tried shooting more rounds at Beckner but Vazquez dumped two grenades that impacted beside him and on the tree. The fighter's upper torso flew off with his legs blown away.

Corporal Gomes spotted a man preparing another RPG. Quickly aiming in his RCO, he fired one shot clean in the Daesh soldier in the head. It was like a cliche movie, the man's head jerked back like whiplash and collasped. Tripp and Skolnick fired together a volley of shots into three fighters trying to flee to another trench but were gunned down. At this point, there was no more rounds being fired from the rest of the treeline. Whoever was still alive, were either fleeing or dying.

"Seize fire! Seize fire!" Sergeant Walstrom peeked out at the carnage. Barrels from the Marines' weapons were smoking. Sweat treckled down the young Sergeant's forehead and into his eyes. He took off his eye protection and used his sleeve to clean out his eye. He saw a fighter rising from the dirt injured, clearly in pain. Before any word, Chamberlain fired three rounds into him. Walstrom exhaled hard and looked to his right to see Lehman reloading his weapon while Skolnick kept his rifle aimed down and drinking from his Camelbak.

"Viking 2-3 this Viking Main from Oklahoma, repeat your last over." It was 2nd Lieutenant Klein.

"Viking Main this is Viking 2-3, we received contact from a enemy patrol. The remaining hostiles have retreated. No casualties, requesting pursuit by fire over." Walstrom asked. What he was requesting was to track down the enemy survivors and finish them.

"Negative 2-3, arrive at Checkpoint 4 Bravo and then return to Oklahoma, over and out."

Just like that, radio-ed off against finishing the remaining enemies. Walstrom turned to his old friend Lehman. "The LT call us off?"

"Yeah, mount back up and get rolling." Walstrom ordered. Lehman gave a loud whistled and gave the waving handsignal to move on. The Marines re-entered the vehicles. Luckily, the herd of sheep had ran away once the shooting had stopped. Now, the Marines continued with their route, heading back to base.


	2. Know Thy Enemy

Nazull Alensar brought his goat by the leash into the town from the entrance where a Daesh fighter watched. Nazull was far too familiar with the village to know who it was. There was many families that held great grudges against the Americans. Loved ones lost to their air bombardments. Nazull was the same way. Trusted that the Americans were here to help and liberate his country. Free them all of the horrible Islamic extremists. That was until late one night while he was tending to his crops with his son, an airstrike destroyed his home. Wife and daughter gone. Alluba Alensar, his son, frustrated went off to join the militia. The insurgency. Nazull begged him not to. Alluba was all he had left. But he was too naive. Three months had passed. Alluba would come back to their home, wary from war, had retreated the border as Americans came charging into towns all over their country. Nazull got to spend a week with his son, hoping that he'd stay for good. But another morning, he was gone again.

Two more months would pass that brought another Daesh fighter to Nazull's home. The soldier explained that Alluba was killed in an American attack, the Daesh couldn't retrieve his body. The boy gave Nazull his rifle in regards and gave blessings to him before leaving. Nazull was devasted. He had enough war back during the Cold War. Russians were much more cruel. But America had such an array of airborne units that Nazull truly questioned why Daesh tried. Any time Daesh could get their hands on a tank, artillery, or even a formal military meeting, an air strike would eviscerate it. Nazull however was very familiar to warfare. All aspects. He grew up on it. His grandfather was a warlord. He lived by it.

If there was one thing that the Alensar family was familiar with was warfighting. So when Nazull came to Daesh with his old military uniform and AK47 that was buried under his shed, they welcomed him with open arms and thanked him. The Daesh commanders were thankful for Nazull to join their ranks from his experience. They asked him to be a Field Marshall and train troops, lead them into combat. Nazull explained to the new Daesh leaders and soldiers that they could not fight conventionally. He explained guerrilla warfare. Stalk, strike, survive. Americans when deployed and consistently used by their leaders they become complacent. Nazull was familiar, he acted as a interrupter for a company of Army Rangers when they based outside of his village. This was when he believed the Americans. He learned how the soldiers were treated. Their ways. How they fought. Their rules of engagement. So this was why Nazull was going to another village with a goat to where a group of Daesh commanders and bomb makers were meeting under a mosque.

The Daesh Guard at the entrance of the village was Bashir. Nazull knew he was far too young to wear the color of the fighter. Bashir had a shemagh wrapped around his face, until Nazull approached, he took it down and faced the veteran insurgent.

"Commander."

"Too young to fight infidels boy." Nazull said, he could see the small amount of facial hair on the boy's lip and chin. Probably the only hair he could grow.

"The infidels fight at my age."

"They are boys with guns. Fooled by their American Propaganda of war. Do you see them recruiting by the videos of us beheading their weak who surrender?"

"No, Commander."

"Because their men are weak. We do not rely on lies to recruit our soldiers."

"God is Great."

"God is Great, Comrade."

Nazull kept going with his goat into the village. It was a nice village of the Rahem elders. The Rahem family were loyalists to Daesh, as well as Al-Quada. However, after the Al-Quada retreated the country, they had to resort to working with the Americans. The men hid away their weapons in the cave to the mountains above the village. That was until Daesh fighters came and asked for their men to take up arms and join their ranks. Those who were independent left to join the Daesh Army, while those who desired to stay, would defend and assist any resistance against American Forces. Due to recent events, Daesh soldiers were being moved into the village to blend in to fight against the Americans who had moved into the area. Nazull knew exactly what to request to have enough to handle the Americans. Three dozen men. No tanks. Stockpile of weapons that were smuggled in, consisting of a vary of Soviet style small arms. AK's, PKM's, RPD's, RPG's, 61mm Mortars, and RGD-5 hand grenades. All the soldiers were mostly scattered across the village. Many homes were more than happy to house the fighters. The Headquarters was the cave to the mountains above the village that was from the opposite side that the Americans usually came from.

Nazull look to see another Daesh fighter on the roof of a home with a oil lamp lit inside. The dim light glowed on the soldier, Nazull could see an RPD with a bipod leaning against the rail that went around the whole home. Nazull kept going, passing through the market that was completely quiet except for a pack of stray dogs barking in the streets. Nasty creatures. Nazull walked past the elder's home which was the biggest estate in the village. Two story, with elegant quilts and well structured walls. Ironic that those who built it were the American Engineers that the Rahem family convinced them that they needed it fixed. The United States Soldiers believed them, thinking that fixing their home would have the elders on their side to exterminate the remaining insurgents. Fools. The United States have no idea of their way of life. Outsiders just cannot lead this place. Only those within the people can lead.

Nazull approached the mosque that barely seemed to have any light from inside. So Nazull tied his goat's leash to the post and gave the girl a pat on the head to munch on grass. He went inside and saw only three people inside worshiping Allah. A couple, praying to Allah to bring a healthy child and a elderly woman begging for her grandsons to return from war. Nazull passed and went down a set of stairs that were dug from the ground. A candle was dug into the wall and burning that gave enough light to allow someone to see the steps. Nazull reached the basement to see two Daesh soldiers, one smoking a cigarette with an AK in hand, while the other was loading a magazine.

"Commander, good to see you." The older one smoking said to Nazull.

"Comrades, have the people fed you?" Nazull asked pulling his turban off to reveal his bald head. Nazull shaved it all to make it seem to Americans he was more professional apart from villages. His beard was still black bushy with hints gray like pepper. Skin tanned brown from working in the fields. Hair growing on his knuckles and his arms. He was big for an Iraqi. Nazull removed his cloak and hung it on a coat rack.

"Yes of course Commander, fine rice and salted beef. They cook good." The younger one said finishing to load his magazine.

"Good, good. Do not fall asleep. It is the last we need. God is Great." Nazull said as he stepped out of the room and into the tunnel that was usually covered with a quilt and book case. He walked down the path that had small wax candles leading him through. The tunnel was barely shoulder width, occasionally, Nazull had to turn sideways. Eventually he came to a small room that had several men inside. Two guards, four Daesh Commanders, and a Pakistan bomb maker.

"Nazull Alensar! Brother!" One of the leaders said with grace, approaching Nazull with open arms. The two exchange a great embracing hug.

"Tazeem, here I was worried the war would have kept you from coming." Nazull said with glee at his old home born village friend.

"This is our country friend, we come and go as we please. All infidels shall be inquisition for invading our lands." Tazeem said with frustration toward the westerners. Tazeem guided Nazull by the hand to an empty spot on the well crafted carpet. After they were seated, Tazeem pointed out each of the men.

"Nazull Alensar, this is Ahmed Bulah and Ibn Ahad, the most senior Daesh leaders in the area." The two middle aged leaders gave a respectful nod to Nazull, he could see their AK74u assault rifles behind them. Both men had a vest with four pouches that were fully stocked with ammunition. Bulah's beard was nearly down to his windpipe of his throat, he was short and had gray hair. However, many knew he fought alongside and against the Russians. He was an experienced fighter and commander. Ahad was younger, he infiltrated inside of the American Resources, helped as an informant and interrupter all throughout the previous war. His knowledge of American war tactics were incredibly useful against the patrols that the United States would send out.

On two occasions, Ahad led ambushes against Army patrols that completely exterminated them. No survivors. All fourteen soldiers were scavenged. Gear taken and sold. Guns placed into use. Bodies burnt away in a hole that was covered with dirt. But the beauty of Ahad was after the attack. He had his men get in a straight line and "police call" all evidence of a firefight. Shell casings were to be retrieved, blood to be washed away from the ground, and cover all tracks.

This happened twice. Ahad was smart about it. He did it in two completely separate locations. Miles away from one another this way the Americans couldn't figure out a location he was operating from. Each of his two ambushes took at least three months to coordinate together. Ahad had to understand the patrols, where they usually went, the members in the squad. Everything. Ahad explained that he'd always kill the radio man, the squad leader, the medic, the machine gunners, the rest were easy after that. Ahad explained that the Rangers relied on their chain of command and seniority. Most of the junior soldiers never were taught what their leaders knew. So once the leaders were killed, the followers wouldn't know how to lead the remaining. Ahad explained that the Americans always had this sort of wall between their ranks. He said how "NCO's" were too segregated from the "Enlisted" as if they were better and shouldn't be around them. At first, Nazull was confused. Why would soldiers be segregated amongst one another when they were alongside each other in war? Ahad told him that NCO's are the best of Enlisted. So they were important, vital, and knew things than the enlisted.

So Ahad would watch patrols for months. Assessing where they would go on patrols, how they handle patrols, what parts of the day, where members of the squad would be on patrols, who was who in the patrol. Ahad could eventually find the squad leader by the fact he was the one who throughout the patrol simply without care it seemed while the members would focus on the patrol itself. The radioman was simple. Big box with a wire who was always next to the squad leader, next was the medic, the man who hungout in the back with a big back pack of medical supplies. Machine gunners were simple. They always came in a pair at least. One would carry lots of ammunition, the other a machine gun. All Ahad would do was point out to shoot the gunner, and when the ammo man would go to the gun, to shoot him next.

Ahad was so precise with it that it literally struck fear in the U.S. Army in the base nearby. Nazull was still on their side and spoke with the American Soldiers. Explaining how someway, 15 soldiers vanished, no radio contact, no bodies, nothing. When it happened six months again later, Nazull remembered how the patrols increased to over 30 soldiers, and they were mad. When they'd search the villages, they would be ferocious about it. The people would be rounded up and placed in the middle of the town while the soldiers would search through their homes. The people pretend to be furious, explaining how they had no idea about the missing two patrols. They knew it was Ahad and his veteran fighters.

Tazeem then turned his hand to Elder Rahem who sat with a long pipe in his mouth, smoking away. His scalp barely had any strains of white hair left. His long beard was pure gray and white with a few specks of black.

"You know Elder Rahem." Rahem smiled with half his teeth missing at Nazull.

"Good to see you again Nazull, I remember when you were just a boy."

"I remember when you had hair Elder Rahem!" Nazull laughed. The whole room erupted in laughter except the Pakistani.

"Lastly, Muhammad Alu Alaharbar, the arms dealer, and generous bomb maker." Tazeem explained.

The Pakistani said nothing but stared at Nazull with a hard gaze, finally giving a nod. Nazull did the same. He did not trust the Pakistani, he was a mercenary. He had to be kept being paid well or else he'd just turn their backs on them. He had strings and ways to bring weapons into Iraq, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, and all other parts of the Middle Eastern. His connections were from all over, he even had ties with the Chinese.

"The meeting, yes. Let's get on with it." Tazeem said with slight enthusiasm.

"We came here to speak with you Nazull about combat operations in this region of mountains and towns." Bulah said after drinking some tea.

"What of it?" Nazull asked pouring his own cup of tea.

"For the past four months, the Americans, the Marines are doing much better than we expected. These 'Marines' are different than the 'Rangers' we fought in the previous war." Ahad said with disappointment.

"How so?" Nazull asked, he had heard of these Marines before. Fierce warriors. "Devil Dogs"

"Their patrols are unpredictable. I tried to commence an ambush two days ago, we used a herd of sheep to stop a vehicle patrol. But before we could close the distance to the Marines, they engaged our forces. Lost seventeen soldiers, a few were even left injured, we couldn't even collect some of the dead until the next morning. By then the flies and dogs got to them, disgracing our loyal freedom fighters." Ahad explained with sadness.

"Tell me about these Marines. Where are they operating from? Do you have information for me?" Nazull asked finishing the cup of tea and sitting up straighter. Bulah opened his satchel and inside were pictures, black and white, almost as though from a Polaroid. In the pictures were these Americans who definitely looked different than the soldiers Nazull remembered fighting. These men, these Marines who a desert looking uniform, tan vests, their weapons were different. All sorts of better gear. But they looked well organized. Then there was a picture of a vehicle patrol. US military trucks with mounted guns of all sorts, like machine guns, missile launchers, and a short barreled gun that Nazull knew as a "Mark 19" which was an automatic grenade launching turret. Lastly was an outpost. Well fortified, all sorts of obstacles like barbed wires, concrete barriers that prevented the main service road into the base to have a vehicle come straight into. Multiple guard towers that were stacked with sandbags and walls.

"They are different." Nazull said with a sigh.

"And difficult. These Marines are sharpshooters. Their weapons can engage my troops from further distances than my rifles. So I've had to resort to engage them in close quarters. Their scopes make it harder for them to shoot us in short distances. But if they come in our homes, they just destroy everything. Almost an endless supply of grenades. In my operation quarters in another village was raiding. The Marines knew we were there, came in, destruction. They were aggressive. I have a soldier in a building, they bring sixteen to kill him. I put a machine gunner in a building to fire at them from a far, they blow up the building with a rocket launcher. I try to use a mortar to be out of their sight, an airstrike comes in just to kills one man on a mortar. They are ruthless." Ahad explained, showing pictures of the destroyed village, and a truck loaded in the back with fallen fighters covered in bullet holes.

"Our comrades died a worthy cause." Nazull placed the pictures back together and handed them to Bulah.

"The Marines, have caused quite a change in the area. The outer villages are starting to consider working with them. They have proven to thwart our efforts." Bulah said stashing away the photographs.

"So what does this involve with me then?" Nazull asked. Tazeem took a deep gulp of tea and turned to Nazull.

"My friend, we ask you to take charge of our forces in this district of the region." Tazeem said with plea.

"Brothers, I'm flattered by your offer and trust in me, but... why?"

"Commander Nazull, you are the only one here who might know how to handle these 'Devil Dogs'. Our tactics aren't doing it. We will supply you with whatever you need. Men, weapons, bombs, vehicles. Everything."

"Why not devote efforts from someone more experienced?"

"Nazull, the frontier cannot hold back these Marines from taking a foothold in our country. They've gone so far into the country and slain so many of our soldiers that have had to rethink our plans. Our competent leaders are already spread thin across the land. Some former Islamic military leaders are coming but, with how things look, they appear to not want to come if we're getting slaughtered." Baluh expressed pointing out points across the map.

"How much have they pushed beyond?" Nazull asked.

"The entire eastern front was killed or sent back into the cities. I'm speaking about armies. Getting in any vehicle heading west and leaving. Those who couldn't run fast enough were killed. The Marines brought armor, tanks, trucks, troop carrier things. I had only six tanks. All were destroyed, and all we got out of them was damaging a tank. Not even destroying. The Marines control the air. Helicopters fly night and day. The Marines have pushed into four provinces. I had thousands of troops in them. Now I only have hundreds." Bulah expressed with rage.

"We must do something, because what we're doing is not working." Ahad explained.

Nazull rubbed his bald scalp, thinking. What assets were on his side? Terrain. He knew these lands. When. He got to decide when to fight the Americans. Their rules of engagement were strict. Guerrilla warfare definitely. He'd have to used IEDs against convoys. No way his soldiers could fight their vehicles. But harassing them would be simple.

"Very well, I'll lead them."

The two had smiles and relief come across their faces. They were pleased.

"Splendid, let's talk numbers." Tazeem explained pointing to the Pakistani, who had still not talked the entire time.

"How many weapons?" Muhammad said flatly. His Iraqi tongue wasn't the best. It was broken and barely understandable.

"Explosives. RPG's, grenades, and especially. Two shipping crates of small arms. The usual. Do you have any mounted turrets we could put on trucks?" Nazull asked.

"I can do explosives. Guns easy. Turrets cost double. I can find trucks. They also double. Hard to get past border." The Pakistani said bluntly.

Before any words could be spoken, one of Bulah's and Alad's guards came forward with a old brown briefcase. The Pakistani opened it to find a mass amount of Iraqi currency. All no doubtfully from political buildings that were stolen or fraud of banks.

"Bring it to us within a week and you'll be given a bonus." Bulah explained with a serious look. Ahad turned to Rahem the Elder and looked to him.

"Do we have your blessings to fight for your village and move forces through your market elder?"

"Keep the foreigners from my people and homes, and I shall support you." Rahem said smoking from his pipe.

"Excellent. Now Nazull, I have another piece of information to discuss with you." Ahad said to Nazull.

"What is it?"

"In a few nights, I plan to launch an attack against the Marine's outpost. I want you to be there to witness. See these Marines for yourself, employ your experience in combat, lead men." Ahad asked, almost as a beg.

"I shall, I must show these men I am faithful to them and they should be faithful in me." Nazull said with confidence. He truthfully was worried. The Marines were truly a worthy adversary. He should not underestimate them.

"God is Great!" Tazeem shouted holding up his fist in the air.

"GOD IS GREAT!"


	3. Frogmen

"Brief in five!" Tank yelled out into the squad bay. William sighed and started packing up his weapons cleaning gear. He clicked together his lower and upper receiver of his Mk 13 CQBR carbine. He did a quick functions check to ensure he didn't forget anything. Russell in the corner closed his book and made his way over to William.

"Whaddya think this one is?" Elijah, the newest addition to the team asked as he threw on his blouse over his tattoo covered chest across the squad bay asked.

"Probably some bullshit recon op," Russell said spitting out a mouthful of dip spit into an empty energy drink can.

"You'd think having a SEAL platoon in a combat zone they'd actually use us for you know, _combat._ " William explained tucking away his cleaning gear in his footlocker and hanging his carbine up on the gun rack above his bed.

"Captain Wang better start hooking and jabbing with us before they pull us out before Team 2 get in here." Russell said leaning against the wall next to William.

"I don't think the CO is trying to get us balls deep in a firefight every night like last month."

"I think he's trying to keep a clean record of a no casualty list before he moves off to his next command. He damn near lost his shit when Wes broke his finger." Elijah explained grabbing his note taking gear and pen.

"Probably, Lieutenant Salazar is apparently taking over when the CO leaves till we get some other knucklehead." Russell explained before stepping over to the hatch. William got up, dug his note taking gear out of his backpocket and started making his way with the rest of the guys down the hall with Elijah and Russell.

The SEALs were crammed deep into Joint Operations Base "Whiskey", but nicknamed "Whiskey Locker" by the enlisted. The base held various units across the United States Military. The Pennsylvanian National Guard was out here with a Stryker Brigade and almost two-thirds of a battalion of mechanized infantry. 3rd Marine Division had units here too, their main regiment command was located inside JOB Whiskey with their 2nd Battalion located in the area. Companies of Infantry Marines scatted in make shift Forward Operating Patrol Bases. 2nd Army Infantry Calvary was the main unit here. Being an airborne unit you would think they'd have air assets like helicopters. Wrong. They sent out the unit with none of its aviation vehicles. 2nd Calvary were operating as Ground Combat Elements, mostly being the main effort in the Area of Operations (AO) which was call signed "Badlands" A variety of rolling mountains, scarce villages scattered around, four major cities, and a crippling government structure. There were multiple religious extremist groups that despised the American Military, but the main focus was Daesh. The strongest and largest operating faction in the "Badlands." A lot of Daesh were former military fighters from Mujahedeen, Taliban, Al-Quada, etc. These guys were good at what they do. Not only were they guerilla style fighters. But also could conduct large scale assaults with technicals, large attacking force, and even armored. William had only witnessed two Russian T-62s.

He passed by a destroyed T-62 during a convoy that was up in flames with the turret almost blown right off the top. Barrel of the tank was leaned down into the dirt, and a charcoaled corpse lay to the side on the ground from the fire. From what William heard over the radio stations was that 2nd Battalion, 3rd Marines Weapons Company had destroyed the tank with a TOW missile system from one of their Humvee's in a convoy. Luckily for them the tank didn't see the convoy before they took it out. The T-62 could've torn apart that Humvee convoy like nothing. The other time William heard about it was during a clearing of a town in the Northwest of the Badlands. The tank apparently rolled out of a warehouse with fighters streamers flowing out of it like a barn letting loose horses. Fortunately an Apache Gunship was in the and took it out with a Hellfire missile. Thank God for the Marine Corps Aviation Corps that was on standby at that time.

Ever since last month, Daesh gave up trying frontal assaults, especially with the Marines now in the ballpark. The Marines doubled the amount of patrols in the area, making it difficult for Daesh to transport war supplies across the Badlands. It didn't stop them, just slowed it down. Last month, Echo Company located and destroyed a major weapons cache. AKs, RPDs, PKM, RPGs, even two Anti-Tank sniper rifles that would wreak hell on any Stryker that strolled up on the wrong neighborhood.

But the ground warfare conflict wasn't the SEALs mission, even though William wanted it to be that. Majority of the time, it was intel operations and direct actions. Investigations, night raids mostly. That's all they did for the first two months in country. William loved it. Being his second tour and no longer a new guy to the team, he was walking into firefights on the daily during the first two months when Daesh tried to attack anything. Daesh weren't very good at intel security. They weren't quiet or sneaky about anything. Making the SEALs the perfect tool to fight. They'd get passed word from some Intel guys in the Army saying, "Hey we got about a dozen some fighters in this town, probably in this compound, trying to gather up to attack a FOB." The SEALs would be helo-ed in, land about two miles away, move to that area, post observation with Russell and another sniper. Confirm the intel was right, and the SEALs would be cleared to go in. William loved it. Daesh feared the SEALs. Daesh commanders would send out a strike force, next morning they'd try to call them, never heard from their guys again.

William remembered one time they took out a squad plus of Daesh hidden in a village. They found radios, weapons, fighters, intel. The whole nine yards. The dead Daesh lieutenant had a radio, the next morning, his commander started asking and demanding where his unit was for the attack and why they didn't do a radio check in the morning. The Linguist in the Team, Micah, or Mike as he was shortened. Spoke in Iraqi through the radio, "They're dead, you're next." Before yanking the battery out. The boys and William had a huge laugh about that. They were in the living room of the enemy's house with dead bodies lying around with Mike threatening their commander over their radio. It was priceless. William loved it.

Nowadays, however, William and his team hadn't been sent out for any direct actions in quite awhile. Which was really pissing off the SEAL platoon, they only had two months left on their deployment. They wanted to go out and get some before they went back to the States. As Tank once explained it, they were Pitbulls straight at the end of a leash trying to run off to get into a fight. Chief Mendez loved it, every week during training meetings he was demanding and almost begging to send out teams, we even volunteered to do patrols with the grunts. Marines, Army, hell even the National Guard. But they kept getting denied. The SEALs were pretty much being told to "stay in our lane." The National Guard commander was all about letting SEALs tag along on patrols. But the majority of the time they only pushed out mechanized patrols with their Stryker's and would dismount to do check ups on local villages in the area closest to JOB Whiskey and nearby FOBs. The SEALs were all about helping our brothers out, but we wanted more action. William loved going with Marines. They loved working with us too. But now the SEAL officers were trying to keep us back. Leaving the grunts to patrol on their own. Russell and two other snipers would occasionally get pulled to do overwatch for the Marines or Army guys but that was about it. The snipers were starting to get held back now, which was pissing everybody off. Two weeks ago, Tank had to get in the ass of Lamont and Craig because they ran off to join some Calvarymen going out for a patrol. The two strapped up, ran over to the patrol of Army guys and asked the Squad Leader and Platoon Commander if they could tag along. Of course, the Squad Leader and Commander aren't going to decline two SEALs who want to patrol with them. But Tank was pissed. When Chief Mendez found out, he got in Tank's ass.

Tank was the most senior member of the team under Chief. He was the leader when they went out, which he hated. Tank missed always being the first guys in the room or compound. Now he was stuck planning ops, routing maps, and giving briefs. Tank was a Texan, a biggest guy in the Platoon. Six foot, eight inches, 250 pounds of straight muscle. He was a brick. Hence why he got the name, Tank. His real name was Thomas Rutgers, played a lot of football back in college with no real intentions for the military. Until 9/11 that is, he dropped out and went to the recruiters. At first he wanted to be a Marine, dreamt about being a machine gunner as he once told. But the Marine Recruiter wasn't there. On the way out the Navy Recruiter spotted the titan of a man and pulled him into the office, telling him how he'd be perfect as a SEAL. Not a lot of guys make it through BUD/S at such a young age as Tank. Surprisingly, he made it through his first time, pushing out to SEAL Team 2. After awhile and ranking up he got moved around quite a bit. Until he came to SEAL Team 8 with William, Russell, and Craig.

Russell was the team's sniper for the longest time, which was simple because he started out in the Marine Corps. He signed up as an Infantryman in the Marine Corps, during School of Infantry, he met the requirements to go for the Recon Indoctrination. He passed at the top of his class and went off top Basic Recon Course, during the course he came down with pneumonia from all the swimming he did or something and was dropped. Got thrown into a Marine Corps Battalion out in 29 Palms. He wasn't there long before the Scout Sniper Platoon had an Indoctrination for infantrymen. He went in and failed the first time because it was his first attempt and he was a lower rank to two promising Sergeants. On his second attempt before deployment, he passed at the top again, and was entered into the Scout Sniper Platoon where he did his first deployment, he was then pulled out sent to Scout Sniper School, then Urban Sniper School before punching out for his second deployment in the platoon. Once he came back and nearing the end of his enlistment, he reached out to the Career Planner and signed himself up to try to become a SEAL. He made it.

Craig was one of the guys that joined with no previous military experience. The guy was from Arkansas, straight hillbilly. In high school he loved welding, went off to do construction work for a couple of years. After awhile he got married and has two boys. But he felt something missing. So he joined the Navy Reserves. Craig was a big hefty guy, loved getting into bar fights and drinking. One day another buddy of his was drinking and offered the idea they should go out for SEALs. So they did, Craig's buddy didn't make it through. But Craig was doing pretty good for himself and decided to stick with it. Now he was in the team, great guy. His massive drinking addiction never stopped him from being in shape. Surprisingly. He was the best person to drink with. Funny as hell.

Craig and another SEAL, Danny or "Beagle" as he was nicknamed were sitting in near the right hand side of the conference room. Chief and Tank were working on pulling up the projector and the slide show of the mission. Lamont and a new guy "Six" were working on the terrain model which was made of MRE cardboard boxes, dip cans tapped over, 550 cord, and other things they found in the trash. Mike was off in the corner with another SEAL sniper nicknamed "Big Bird" who was transferred over from another team. Mike was a reading over some Iraqi language book before noticing William and Russell. The two other SEALs moved their chairs over to where Craig, Beagle, William, and Russell were sitting at.

"Nice of y'all to show up," Big Bird explained to Russell.

"Hey weren't not late. I'm still waiting for Tyler to show up." Russell said. Tyler was a senior member of the team under Tank, he wasn't a fan of ever showing up on time. But what he lacked in garrison he excelled in the field. He was a great SEAL, he talked with a loud deep voice that got everyone's attention.

"Hell if we wait for Tyler the Tyrant to show up, this brief won't kick off till tomorrow." William said, making all the guys chuckle a little bit.

"If we had any of those Thailand whores we met in Singapore he'd be here in a heartbeat." Russell joined in to the laughter. At this moment, four Marine pilots strolled into the briefing room. It was obvious to tell they were pilots. Hair greased with gel in nice hair, sunglasses on the top of their head, plus they were in jumpsuits that totally gave it away. Marine Pilots, gotta love 'em. Two Marine NCOs also strolled in, older guys, seasoned veterans no doubt. It was pretty easy to tell who did what in the military on how they looked. The two Marine Sergeants and a Corporal had beat up and dyed out cammies. Meaning they re-used and rewashed those cammies a lot. They had short hair which was easy to maintain when you're sweating your ass off on patrol. These guys were the real heroes. Guys that were usually deprived of sleep with a dozen young boys without the same amount of time in country under them. They were expected to get them all home. Or try at least.

William turned his focus now back to the front of the briefing room to where various officers now emerged. A lot of them being from William's chain of command. Intel Officer, Ops Chief, Platoon Commander, Admin Officer, the list went on and on. Lot of supporting leaders who worked out of the fight. These guys, the smart ones, were the ones that got William and his SEAL buddies to the right place at the right time with what, where, how, and why. Half the times, William was doing something that someone thought out a week in advance. The last arrivals were four Army Staff NCOs, Platoon Sergeants, real old guys who led 30 guys each for their perspective company. Most starting to get into their thirty's or forty's.

At this point, the briefing was about to begin. Captain Wang, the Commanding Officer of the SEALs, appeared first.

"Gentlemen, good afternoon." Captain Wang spoke out. A mixture of replies was returned.

"Hua," the Army gentlemen replied.

"Good Afternoon, Sir," some officers replied.

"Urrr," the Marines groaned back.

But not a single reply from the SEALs. Except Beagle who couldn't pass up any opportunity to mess with the CO. Captain Wang was an alright guy, but William found him too inexperienced. Not as bright as one should be as a Commanding Officer. He wasn't promising and reliable. Captain Wang was a big guy, arms and chest barely contained inside his shirt. However, his arms and face were covered in sunscreen. The CO being Asian was practically allergic to sunlight. Here in Iraq, he was fucked. He always walked around white as a ghost with sun screen or lotion. Beagle noticed pretty easy.

"Hey Sir, you got any sunscreen I could borrow?" Beagle asked out.

The crowd of Officers, Enlisted just burst out laughing, the Marines especially. Captain Wang smirked and tucked his head down nodding. The whole room of men were laughing. The SEALs had quite a huge amount of laughter. Beagle, or Danny was new to the platoon. He got swapped out of the Urban and Hostage section side of the SEAL house and placed with William's group. He fit right in, he was funny as hell. Crazy too. Beagle loved getting into gunfights. He was always trying to be pointman. Time after time again.

"Thank you, Dan." Captain Wang finally managed to say after the laughter. A young PFC was sitting in the back of the room pushing the NEXT button on the slideshow, Captain Wang turned to him and the next slide came up.

OPERATION: BLACK THUNDER

"What the fuck?" William said under his breath.

"Don't sound like any intel op or recon that's for sure." Mike said next to William.

"Maybe I won't fall asleep through this," Craig said packing a pinch of dip into the corner of his mouth.

"Gentlemen, this coming from bigger than us. Talking Central Intelligence from Langley and from the Pentagon's finest. Recently our wonderful CIA agents have been undercover in the recent weeks digging through 'Badlands' getting recent word some big stuff is going to start coming through thanks to the recent influx of a Battalion of Devil Dogs-"

"Oorah," said one of the Marine Sergeants.

"Daesh commanders have been issuing a lot of orders. Smugglers have been tasked with sneaking in a major increase of small arms, and stronger crew served weapon systems. Even heard word about an Anti-Air Missile System." Captain Wang explained. William noticed the pilots in the corner move in their seat a little more.

"So far, from what they've passed to me, these supplies haven't came in. Yet. However it is expected in the coming weeks. The brass back in the Pentagon want to make this war or conflict end as soon as possible and with word coming out about a major resupply or arms, they want that to not happen. CIA dug through the underground to find out there is a series of Daesh commanders being said to be inside the 'Badlands', operating more closely to the frontlines. Which is fine with me, it makes them easier to kill."

The crowd let loose a couple of cheerful replies. Captain Wang turned to the PFC and they clicked to the next slide. Showing a picture of an Iraqi man. Thick beard, hard cold eyes in a military vest holding a knife over three dead Iraqi men who had their throats slit. William knew who this guy was, "Tazeem Ali-Sahaad."

"This is the only picture we have, Tazeem Ali-Sahaad. He is the Commander of all Daesh forces in the region. He's here in Badlands. He's been callsign 'Abraham' for his signature long beard and being the leader of all the Daesh. We believe he was dead back last August when an airstrike bombed a Daesh command center that made the whole building collapse. I guess the bastard managed to crawl his way out and fled to Iran for a while. But now he's back and changing the game of how they fight. CIA can't ever find this guy, he's a real ninja. Doesn't ever announce his presence for his men. Sneaky mother fucker. He is the main target for the remainder of these three months for us. But the thing is, we need to make him come out of hiding. Our goal is to kill enough of his lieutenants to where he'll have to come out. And that's when we'll put a round or ten in his face."

"Urrr, rah, hell yeah," the audience replied.

"Tonight however, he is not our target. The next two knuckleheads we got are a little easier to get our hands on."

The next slide emerged of a middle aged Iraqi with a variety of pictures. Some were him as a translator for a few Marines and Army soldiers on patrol. The newest one was from a aerial drone camera showing him with a AK and backpack in a firefight from the looks of it with two technicals mounted with heavy machine guns between a stack of buildings.

"This asshole is Ibn Ahad labeled for us as "Apache", this short stocky prick fought against the Russians awhile back with previous military factions. Then turned coat to join the Americans, aiding in humanitarian ops, translations, the whole nine yards. Now he has took everything he knows to Daesh and is one of their most competent commanders. He's gotten one too many Americans killed and we want him. We'll get him soon enough however, his time will come."

Another slide emerged showing another Daesh leader.

"Ahmed Bulah, callsign named "Capone" or Public Enemy Number One, this guy handles a lot of logistics. He's more of a public figurehead of Daesh. Likes making public appearances and recruiting more of the locals to aid Daesh. He'll wind up dead from probably Russ or one of our other snipers." Russell nearby gave a growling groan in acknowledgment. Russell had a reputation of being a feared sniper. Even to the enemy.

The next slide had a blacked out silhouette of a man with a multiple of background information.

"This guy is "Gray Man", not much we got descripting this guy. But his name is Nazull Alensar. CIA hasn't heard much about this guy before until recently. But he's something big. Agents pulled he's some sort of genius military general who truly knows how to wage war. He's apparently done it from all angles since he was young. He's good buddies with Tazeem Ali-Sahaad from back in the younger days. Tazeem allegedly has reached out to him, asking for him to help the fight against us. We want every piece of data on him as possible. So when we go out on raids or intel ops, take every phone, computer, fucking carrier pigeon we don't care after every gunfight to help locate and identify this man."

William sat back and wrote as much as he could regarding "Gray Man", name, description. As much as he could and put a star next to his name.

"Now you may be wondering why we pulled you all in on short notice. Last night CIA tracked down a familiar name they've been after for quite sometime." The slide changed to a Pakistani with multiple pictures. Including him being in front of a series of bomb making materials. A photo taking from a car window by phone of this guy entering a black window van. He was bald without a beard except for some hair on his chin.

"Muhammad Alu Alaharbar, 'Bombardier', a name known too well by most. He's a renowned bomb maker in the entire Middle East. This guy is responsible for practically every single IED casualty in the past two years. Everyone's pretty quick to give him credit for it. CIA has discovered he's moving past just bombs. They found out he's stepping his game up to weapons of all shapes and sizes. He's conquering the monopoly since a lot of smugglers aren't too keen to try anything recently. Tazeem, decided he's the man for the job to get his army supplied and inflict as much death on us as ever. He, is Operation Black Thunder.

"Fuck yeah," Beagle uttered to himself before giving Craig a knuckle bump.

"This is a multi-joint operation with a small amount of moving parts but a lot of support from adjacent attachments including Air Force, Marines, and Army. Each of us with different roles given the current circumstances. Air Force has donated potentially a AC-130 Gunship to be on station. It'll be in the air on standby, we need them, and William will give them a call to bring hell. Air Force did however guarantee they could get us two F-16's in the air for immediate support. Drop bombs on 'em. Marine Corps Aviation pilots led by Captain "Stool" Armstrong will be our ride for the night with CH-53 helicopters, along with his other pilots. They'll be flying us in about 4 clicks away from the objective. I'd rather avoid them from seeing our birds before we even get groundside. My aim and goal is to keep only us in the AO. However, I've been around long enough to know these sand dwellers aren't stupid. Intel can always be poisoned and this could be a trap. Which is why I have asked 2d Battalion, 3d Marines to hand out some back up.

The three NCOs gave a grunt noise in reply. "Urrr." Which was like a half assed as response but also have eager reply.

Will loved his fellow Marines, being that he was one. His older brother Joseph was a Marine, a great one at that. Joseph had gotten out as a Sergeant in the brief time that he was out there. Tall, tough, and fast. He was always the recognized sibling from William, apart from his sister Catrena. Star athlete, popular guy, academic. He was going to great things. Everyone expected him to excel in college, but Joseph suddenly had other plans. He one day stepped out of the house, and came back with a Marine Corps Recruiting Pamphlet. Will remembers his Dad being furious at his brother. Couldn't understand why Joseph would give up all his opportunities to fight in a war that he had no real part of. He enlisted anyways and came out with three deployments under his belt when he got out. First Iraq, next Afghanistan, and one last one to Iraq. While in Afghanistan, he was rolling as a Squad Leader. after about half a year in training and coming home for a few weeks.

Joseph wasn't in garrison long. He was in the fleet for one month before he was groundside in Iraq. He was out on patrols as a young PFC with a lot of senior Marines that had been in country. His unit took quite a few casualties. Joseph was notorious among his peers, he was in phenomenal shape so when his platoon lost some of their team leaders, Joseph was called upon. In a short time he was in the Corps to have him become Lance Corporal. He spent the remaining time on deployment as a Team Leader, and later the Assistant Patrol Leader. After a couple of months back in 29 Palms, he was placed up for Meritorious Corporal. He made it. After about another year he was deployed to Afghanistan as a Squad Leader where he was in charge of twelve guys.

That's when Joseph was really stressed out, has a lot demons and bad memories. He had lost some of his Marines. His guys that he trained and took care of. Some of them were his friends he knew since Boot Camp. He was responsible for them. But Joseph cared too much about those Marines in his platoon and company. When it came time for the next deployment and his enlistment almost about to end, he extended his contact for another six months to be alongside his Marines. Which was where he was promoted to Sergeant for the remaining two months he was in the Marines. After he got out, he went to college and started working on getting a degree. But he hated being outside of the military. So he got into the Army National Guard so he could stay enroll in college.

Joseph was Will's role model and made him want to be a Marine too. After William graduated high school, he enlisted in the Marine Corps Infantry too. Will's time being enlisted was a lot different compared to his brother. He wasn't faced with so much daily gunfights, but he had his fair share. He went on numerous patrols with a rough amount of sleep. But when he heard from his brother about his deployments, it made William never complain. When Will got out as a Corporal, he decided he wanted to do real combat. He felt like he hadn't earned his right as a warrior. So when it came time for him to decide whether to re-enlist or go back into the civilian world, he stepped into the Career Planner's office and asked about the process to get into SEALs.

BUD/S was hell. Hands down thee hardest thing Will ever did. The expectations were high. He saw so many guys give up. But he remembered back to those nights when he was in Iraq, patrolling around with barely any sleep. The real motivation came to him from his brother. When he heard all his war stories. The days without sleep. Kicking down doors, house to house, gunfight to gunfight. Men clearing rooms all day, firefights in people's houses. Will dug down deep in himself and kept telling himself that if his brother could survive war, he could survive the course. And he did. Training was the majority of his career when he wasn't in country. Clearing houses, detainee handling, foreign weapons training, call for fire missions, helo insertions, breacher courses, designated marksmen course, that consumed his life.

Will loved being home with his brother and drinking at a bar, talking about everything in the military. Really bonding with life and one another. Their father was proud, and Will's Mom was happy for her son. Joseph had a different mother. Joseph told Will everything he suggested to Will. Mostly not settle down and get married or buy some expensive car that he would barely get to drive. They eventually had just came to terms. They shot some of Joseph's hunting rifles and shotguns the next day before Will deployed. Now here he was, in a war where he came to accept that death could happen at any op.

This is a Direct Action, we got practically a hundred percent chance our target is in there. Langley has two drones currently over the compound, one infra-red, one live feed. They're swapped out practically every hour, wasting hundreds of dollars just to make sure we track this guy. So far he hasn't left."

"Last night the CIA discovered he was present in a Daesh meeting in some village of Rahem family in the far Northeast. Somehow the CIA tracked him down to a small village made up of only three compounds, we labeled 'The Playground'."

The slideshow turned to an aerial photo of a three homes interlocked with compound walls and high mud brick like hallways to almost every building. One major two story, and two single story buildings. The two story was closed off with only one entrance that led right into the center courtyard of the two story's compound. The two one story buildings were halfway cut off by some mud brick compound walls. A big letter "A" was placed on the two story, and "B", "C" on the one stories.

"Bombardier was found here in this compound with quite a couple bodyguards. Couple of rooftop guards of building Alpha and occasionally a two man patrol around the compound. My game plan to is to cordon off Building A from Building B and C with a PDF of machine guns and wall of lead. CIA has gone about digging into data and intel to discover Bombardier is located in Building B, labeled as Snake Den. I'm not worried about Building A, when we exfill we'll have Will drop bombs on it. I don't plan to leave anyone alive, to survivor stories. Teams will roll as follows, Delta Team is playing Guardian Angel, which will be Russell and Big Bird. As if there was any surprise there." Just as Tank finished his sentence, Tyler walked into the back door that grabbed everybody's attention. He wore a gray Navy t-shirt and still in his pajama pants with flip flops. His beard was thick with a baseball cap on top of his head even though he was indoors. A hot steaming cup of coffee in his hand from the Staff Room. He took a seat in the back and took a drink of his coffee.

"As I was, Alpha Team, Command Team will be led by myself, with Doc Mason, Elijah, and Tyler. We will effectively employ our squad automatic weapons down the alley way separating Building A, from B and C. It's a fatal funnel and we being there will prevent any back up to help save the target and his guards. Charlie Team will be led by Craig, he will be hitting building C with Mike, Lamont, and Wes." William leaned up in this chair. This meant he wasn't on any of the teams, not clearing the target's house. Which meant he's probably going to be the Assault team that's going to take out the target. "Alpha Team will be led by Mac, with William, Six, and Beagle." William had a wide smirk across his face. Beagle reached over and gave him a knuckle bump. He was excited too. Will loved having Beagle with him. He was the perfect guy to bring into a gunfight. Especially clearing a room out with a high value target.

"Here's the issue, this guy isn't a martyr but we do fear he may have the means of which to create a PB-IED." William's smile turned away. PB-IED was labeled for Person Born, Improvised Explosive Device, meaning a vest strapped with explosives.

"I know my guys hate hearing that, but it's a small chance. Like I said, he's not a martyr. He's a business man. He's all about making bombs and money. I highly doubt he'll go out in a ball of fire. He may personally try to put up a fight. He may turn himself in when we're kicking in doors and dropping his boys." Tank explained. "After the assault we will visually confirmed the deceased target should we have to use lethal force. If not we will extract out with the target under the cover of Delta Team and Will's air support who he will be in contact with to provide cover as we leave the compound. Should this operation turn South, such as the Assault and Support Element take too many casualties, there are too many enemy fighters than expected, we will radio 'Geronimo' over the net. Which will be a signal for the Quick Reaction Force of Marines to move to our POS-REP, and finally get into the fight. While the Army will then transition from the Airfield, to the landing zone and potentially send more support and secure the LZ till we unfuck ourselves." The Army guys in the corner were pissed. William could tell. Poor guys got the shittiest end of the stick. They were so far in the rear they might as well not of bothered being in the briefing. The Marines were excited. The Pilots were sort of anxious. They love dropping bombs, especially having William as their JTAC, Joint Terminal Attack Controller.

This was William's specialty in his team. When he was an Infantryman back in the Marines. Who was proficient in call for fire missions and close air support. This SEAL team needed a new member who would be competent to handle the hectic task of controlling air support while being in a gunfight. He recalls a mission before where him and his team had to clear a whole building to reach their helo that was going to land on the roof for extraction. It sucked. Will loved ops that didn't involve helicopters or air, like boats or vehicles so we wouldn't have to deal with pilots when he wanted to be putting rounds on targets. But the majority of SEALs relied on air assets. Like this case scenario. Unfortunately.

"Gentlemen, this concludes this portion of the briefing tomorrow morning we will pull the pilots back in with myself, William, and get a communication link with Langley regarding their drones also the AC-130 Gunship crew needs to be present. I entrust all senior leadership will inform their subordinates on a need to know business. Especially you Marines, I know you boys will want to post on Snapchat you're about to roll with some SEALs. None of that shit. No GoPro's either. This op never happened." Tank closed down the projector and everyone sat up from their chairs. William and the other SEALs urgently walked back to their squad bay. They all walked in quiet and remained in silence until Russell was the last one to get back to the room.

They all immediately let loose a fury of exciting screams and cheers.

"Dude! Fuck yes, bout damn time we start legit hunting these fuckers." Beagle said with a smile as he walked over to his footlocker pulling out a flask filled with liquor.

"Captain Wang finally getting his foot off our balls." Craig said spitting out the last of his dip and scooping out the tobacco with a finger.

Tank suddenly came through the doorway. He couldn't help but have a wicked smile.

"Y'all are happy as shit aren't ya?" Tank said taking off his shirt revealing a wild array of tattoos that covered his entire torso and arms.

"Whose junk did we suck to get this Tank?" Russell asked throwing a ball cap on his head.

"All the Pentagon, they're making the calls over us. We're just the guys closest to this prick."

"I'm not complaining." Will said with a smirk as he walked back to his rack to continue prepping his rifle.


End file.
